Page 52 of Second Chance

God, yes, please. But I don’t say any of those things, partially ashamed of my desire. I roll my head to the side and nod as my eyes close.

“Look at me,” he snaps as his hand returns to palm me between my thighs. “Do you see me, Spice?”

My eyes flit back to his. I see him. I see all of him—model beautiful with deep dark eyes and edgy cheekbones. Silver speckles mix with the scruff on his chin.

“All I ever wanted was to touch you,” he says, and the words steal my breath. I inhale sharply before admitting a secret.

“I want that, too.” Breathy and low, I hardly recognize my own voice in the confession.

“Just feel, Spice.” He means physically and nothing more. “Ask me for anything.”

“Touch me,” I whisper, nearly in tears from the achy need.

Instantly, my loose neck sweater is tugged to my waist. Thick hands mirror each other as he cups each breast, squeezing over my bra and tweaking the nipples hidden beneath the fabric. My eyes close as my head falls back, but Denton demands I look at him again. The sharpness of his tone snaps open my lids, and I glance down at the attention he pays the heaviness of each globe. He pinches me, and I yelp, but the pain is a pleasure.

Fingers dip into each cup and tug the material aside, trussing me up like a call girl. I hate to admit, I love it. The weight. The roughness. His mouth suddenly savors one, lapping at it, sucking the nipple to a tight nub as if it could pebble even more. With a sharp release, he moves to the other breast, paying it the same attention. My fingers comb over his hair, holding his head against me. I never want him to stop, but then again, I want so much more.

As if reading my mind, his hands skim down my stomach, forcing the wide-necked sweater to my hips and then pushing at it to fall to the floor. Without breaking the suction on my breast, his fingers instantly come to my waist and unsnap my jean shorts. He releases my swollen nipple with a popping sound and his eyes lower, watching his fingers as they fumble with the zipper. He tugs at the denim, and I wiggle my hips, shimmying the material down a bit. Self-consciously my hand comes to the scarred skin at my belly, signifying the difficult birth of two babies.

“What happened?” he mutters, pushing my hand away and tracing over my scar. I don’t want to answer. I don’t want to bring into this moment the reality of an emergency C-section to remove the twins. Denton seems to understand my hesitation and his mouth returns to mine, resuming his journey lower. My head falls back, and my eyes close. Then his finger enters me, and my knees buckle. He pinches me at the hip, holding me upward.

“Sweet fuck, Mati. Your pussy is gorgeous like the rest of you.” My eyes spring open, and I scoff. I should ask how he knows such a thing without looking, but he continues. “So wet, so wanting. My dick is begging to be near you.” My breath hitches, and he peers up at me from his concentration on his finger filling me.

“What?” he asks, finding something on my face. “Don’t like the dirty talk?” His lip curls at the corner. He’s teasing me. I don’t know how I feel about his naughty mouth. I mean, it’s okay to read, but no one’s ever spoken to me like this before. He positions the bulge stretching his jeans against his hand, slowly rolling his hips in time with his finger, mimicking how he’d enter me and pull back. In and out. Back and forth. He’s literally having sex with me, with his finger, but his dick wants in me.

He leans closer to whisper in my ear. “Your pussy sings to me, and my dick wants to harmonize… slipping, sliding, separating you until there’s only you and me.” He draws back, and something fills his eyes. Something deep I can’t read.

Okay, dirty talk works. It works just fine.

“Denton.” His name comes out as a groan of need. He hasn’t missed a beat in his rhythmic rutting, his hips moving in time with his finger filling me.

“It would feel so good, Spice. Me buried so deep inside you. You coating me.” His voice drops an octave and a second finger joins the first. His breath hitches as he spreads me. My head falls forward, and I gaze down at his fingers entering me. His thumb finds the bundle of nerves, skin extra sensitive and a trigger for me. Pressing and pleasing, he’s working me in a rhythm stronger than the beat of my heart. My fingers clutch at his shoulders as my knees tremble.

“Just feel. I got you, sweetheart,” he mutters. “It’s so much more than I imagined, Mati.” My name is a lyric only he sings, and the beat at my core increases with the rapid pace of his fingers entering me, drawing me to the edge, and then returning to fill me.

My back presses to the wall, but I tip up on my toes. My fingertips dig into his shoulders as I feel the unfamiliar building inside. Flutters ripple through my lower abdomen. Thunder claps inside me and lightning strikes. I explode, lowering to my feet and clutching at him. I’ve been saying his name without realizing it—a song of my own.

“So gorgeous,” he whispers, and I whimper at the loss of his fingers. He falls to his knees, and my hands clutch at the sides of his head. What is he doing? He nudges my thighs to spread, and I gasp his name, curling my fingers around his ears.

“I can’t go again,” I warn. Yet, my jean shorts slip down my thighs along with my underwear and meet my sweater on the floor.

“You will,” he demands into my soaked heat before returning his attention to my delicate folds. My fingernails claw behind his ears. I don’t want to admit it’s never happened before, but I’ve never had more than one orgasm at a time. I will myself not to think of Chris. It’s only a second. A tiny pop in my bubble.

“Me,” he growls against me, his mouth covering the scar signifying the Caesarean. This is too much, too soon. Then he lowers and exhales over me, the moisture of his breath meeting the heat of my core. “Me, Spice.”

His tongue slices through already sensitive folds and my hips buck forward. Again, my body follows his retreat, wanting, needing more from him. I feel the curl of his lips against me before his tongue dips forward, licking and lapping. My eyes roll back at the sweet sensation. Teeth nip at my clit, already tender from his attention. His mouth turns aggressive, hungry, ravenous. “Make this pussy sing for me.”

I’m aghast at his directness, but the curt demand makes my body obey. I come a second time with a scream. My legs fold, and I begin to slide down the wall. Thick hands grip my hips, pressing me upward, pinning me in place as he continues to savor me, sucking up each drip of my pleasure.

“Denton,” I whisper. His lips slow, but he isn’t finished. His tongue softens. His mouth gently sucks. A final lap and then he kisses me directly between my thighs. He pulls back, and his lips glisten as I stare down at him, brushing at his short hair with my fingertips.

“That…” My breath catches. “That was…” I can’t speak. Denton rises slowly, forcing me to focus on the moisture coating his lips. With a salacious grin, he speaks.

“Yeah, Mati. Thatwas.”

Quiet falls between us as he stands before me, stroking back my hair. His mouth comes to mine, and I taste myself on him. Guilty. Decadent. Sweet. His lips are softer, telling me something I can’t interpret. I don’t know what to do next.

Shaky fingers reach for his belt, then unbuckling the catch on his belt.

It would feel so good, Spice. Me buried so deep inside you.

Instantly, his hand covers mine, and he draws away.

“Not tonight,” he whispers. His lips find my forehead, and he kisses me, lingering on my furrowed brow. Suddenly, I’m conscious of standing before him with my clothing at my feet and my bra hiking up my breasts. I reach for the cups and cover myself, growing more awkward with each quiet, passing minute. Denton steps back and looks down at me. Another crooked grin graces his lips.

Do I ask him to stay?

Do I offer him a drink?

Do I admit I don’t know what to do?

Coach me, my brain screams.

Knuckles swipe down my cheek until his fingers reach my throat, and he saves us both.

“Don’t ever think I don’t want you, Mati. You’re all I’ve ever wanted.”